Making Up
by MyGirlCrais
Summary: Maedhros and Fingon are always fighting, but Ambarussa have a plan to make them stop.  Ficlet.  Maedhros&Fingon implied.


Warnings: Implied slash (Maedhros/Fingon)

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: The Silmarillion and all associated characters/stories etc. belong to the estate of J R R Tolkien.

This story is AU and set long before the Silmarils were made and things got complicated. In human terms, Fingon would be just about eighteen, Maedhros a couple of years older and Amrod/Amras (collectively Ambarussa – the red heads) children.

Just a short ficlet.

**'Making Up'**

Ambarussa didn't understand what had happened. Their eldest brother Maedhros and their half-cousin Fingon had always been friends and now they were past their majority they suddenly hated each other. This made no sense.

Especially since, even though they hated each other, they seemed to spend more time together than ever.

Only this morning, the two of them had gone for a ride together, because Fingolfin said Fingon shouldn't go alone and Maedhros was the only one free to go with him. They'd been shouting at each other when they left and they'd been shouting at each other when they came back. But they'd been away four hours and it only took one to reach the waterfall.

Ambarussa were confused. But they had a plan.

* * *

"How did it get down here?" Maedhros started to ask, as he headed down the cellar steps to find the twins' ball. He spun around when the door was slammed behind him, but before he could reach it he heard the key turn in the lock. 

"Amrod! Amras! Let me out!" Maedhros shouted, banging on the door.

"No!" one of them replied, their voice muffled slightly by the door. "We're sick of you two fighting all the time. You're not coming out until you make up."

Maedhros held up his lantern and looked around the cellar. Sitting at the bottom of the steps, by a rack of Fëanor's best 1st Ager, was Fingon, looking less than happy.

"We'll let you out for dinner if you've stopped fighting by then," the other one called.

A small key was pushed under the door, then Maedhros heard the sound of running footsteps and giggling as Ambarussa vanished down the corridor.

He tried the door handle, but it was well and truly locked. He also tried the key, but that didn't work either.

"That won't open the door," Fingon said. "Bring it down here."

Sighing, Maedhros headed down the steps to meet him.

"How long have you been here?" he asked.

"An hour."

"Why didn't you try to get out when they put me in?"

Fingon shifted slightly until Maedhros could see his wrist – he was chained to the wine rack.

"Laugh and I'll kill you," he said, glowering. "Give me the key so I can unlock it."

Maedhros kept his chuckles at bay with grave difficulty as Fingon snatched the key from him. "Fingon the valiant - overpowered by a couple of elflings."

"Very funny," Fingon said, struggling to open the lock with one hand.

Maedhros settled himself next to Fingon and took the key, easily unlocking him. "May I remind you this was your idea."

"It was not!" Fingon said hotly. "All I said was that Adar and Uncle Fëanor better not find out. It was your idea that we pretend to hate each other."

Maedhros didn't debate the point, mostly because Fingon was right.

"Well, what are we supposed to do until they let us out," he said, looking around the cellar. "There's not much you can do in a locked room for three hours."

Fingon grinned wickedly. "Oh," he said, shifting closer to Maedhros, "I don't know about that…"

* * *

"Well," Ambarussa demanded through the keyhole. "Have you stopped fighting?" 

Maedhros and Fingon exchanged grins behind the door. "We have," they called back.

"You promise?"

"We promise."

A pause and then they heard the key being turned slowly in the lock. It opened to reveal two identical faces with fierce expressions.

"Alright," Amras said, "you can go to dinner."

"But if you start fighting," Amrod added, "we'll lock you down there again."

Maedhros jabbed a finger in Fingon's back when he began nodding just a little too enthusiastically.

"We'll be good," he said, ushering Fingon down the corridor. They would most definitely need to change before dinner.

Ambarussa watched them go.

"Amrod," Amras said at length, "Fingon looks awfully dusty."

Amrod nodded. "And Maedhros has a bruise on his neck."

There was a short pause, then Ambarussa turned to each other.

"You know what," Amras said, "I think they've been fighting down there."

"Me too," Amrod said. "I think we'd better lock them in the cellar again."

Ambarussa joined hands and chased after them.


End file.
